


Holy Fuck

by NovaNara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Dean worries about consent because he always assumes the worst, Dean's Point of View, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Smut, but seriously how much more obvious could Cas be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaNara/pseuds/NovaNara
Summary: Confession time: I hate season 7's plot. What can I say, I love proper food, and Dick's plan is abomination. And then I realized that if Dean just took Godstiel up when he tried to talk dirty, season 7 might have never happened. You heard Cas proposition him, right? So...Destiel fix-it to the existence of season 7.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Holy Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Of course I don't own anything...or this would be canon, wouldn't it? ;P A.N. I apologize to readers and Dean. I'm pretty sure you'll both hate me by the end of it, but if I didn't stop at some point, this story would never see the light, and I have other plots vying for attention. Sorry sorry....okay not really.

Fuck. Shit, fuck, hell, and he could go on if they weren't a little busy right now. Cas is crazy on mojo overdose, Sam just made his blacklist, and Dean...well, what is Dean supposed to do? Distracting the self-professed God seems his best bet. Lucky him that he's just been handed the perfect weapon.

  
Dean pastes the rakish smile that got him uncountable phone numbers on his lips, and quips, “Cas, man, you need to step up your dirty talk game. That sounded awkward as hell.”

Castiel blinks. Didn't he expect this? He makes for a poor God, then. You'd think he'd know Dean better. “You're afraid,” he says coldly instead...just like when he rejected Dean's entreaty seconds ago.

Lying has no room here. “Try terrified for size and you'll get closer to the truth. In my place, you'd be terrified of yourself, too. It doesn't mean I'm wrong. Or unwilling. But 'get on your knees and worship my cock' is how you want to say it. And unless you have kinks I don't suspect, being in private would help.” Or not. He refuses to be embarrassed anyway. What's a little cocksucking against taming a crazy heavenly being? He licks his lips, wondering if he should go to the former angel or just drop to his knees and let Cas come to him. He can't exactly 'profess his love' from feet away.

The sneer on Castiel's face doesn't promise anything good. “Why would I want your so-called worship when you don't have love or even respect for me?”

“Hey, you were the one who went and changed when you had everything already.” He is so going to get smote..smoted...smitten? What the fuck is the right verb. Surely not the one which sounds like a teenage crush?

“Not everything. Friendship, maybe. But if so, you betray your friends all too easily. I thought you'd appreciate my heightened power. My ability to protect you against anything. But here you are, complaining.” Castiel's eyes are glaciers. Glaciers you could die on.

Fuck it, Dean is sticking to his guns. “"Let me try to speak human for you, alright? You thought we – I – had, what? A power kink? Is that the angel version of being a size queen? I don't know where you got it, because if you didn't notice, we don't need to be protected. Quite content to fight our own fights, and always have been. A partner is welcome. A minder? Never had one, and we managed just fine.” He half-expects (later, much later, when this is resolved) Bobby to quip that they _did_ have a minder – him – and they'd have been dead many times over otherwise. But the man would never ruin his argument now.

It is a wonder Castiel lets him get to the end of his rant, because at 'size queen' a vein visibly pulses in his temple. “I raised you from Hell, but sure, you managed just fine on your own.”

“And I am grateful for that! But the old Cas was good enough for that as he was. You were fine, mighty fine, before you turned into...this. It's not you. And it might be more powerful, but that doesn't mean it's better, okay?”

“That makes no sense.”

Dean almost wants to laugh. God or not, Cas always has problems with basic language. “Priorities. Do you want to be loved? Or do you want to...well, destroy everyone who slightly annoys you, I suppose. I mean, what else would you need this much power for? You can't have both. Now pick.” This is probably the most stupid thing he's done in his life (and he's signed a crossroads deal and generally been a dumbass too many times to count) because it's obvious, isn't it? Their new Lord is going to snap them all out of existence. If he's lucky, he'll get to go first.

“I want everything.” Castiel's arms spread greedily.

“That's not how it works,” Dean retorts. He's just told God off. Nice job, really.

Cas sighs. “You'd do better not interrupting me. If I agree – if I pick love – I want everything. No holding back. No pretending our bond isn't...” His own voice trails off. Nobody cut in, but the brothers are literally facepalming.

Yes, both of them - Dean doesn't need to see Sammy to know him, and he bets that Cas doesn't need to have him in his vessel's usual field of vision to notice, either. And if Bobby's eyes aren't rolling so hard he might pull a muscle, the man suddenly turned teetotaler.

When Dean looks back, Castiel doesn't look homicidally furious at their disrespect...more disgruntled, really. As if they are the ones who have lost common sense...or possibly, their manners. Not that they were ever too big on those. Well, time to let him hear the truth. “Holding back? I flirted with you to the best of my ability. You never seemed to take the bait, so I figured you wanted to be friends. I can promise you there'll be no holding back on that front, if you so much as nod my way.”

Cas immediately nods. Dean's tempted to laugh, but, as he said – priorities. Deciding, he walks right up to him, before kneeling and looking up. “I'm going to anyway, but – can you put these back first? If you don't like fear?” The groan above him almost pulls one from his throat, too. Damn, Cas doesn't have any right to sound so hot. Not in crazy mode.

“Fine.” It's grumbled, but Castiel is actually sidestepping him, towards the portal he used minutes ago. Or at least Dean fervently hopes.

He half-turns, clutching one of the trenchcoat's sleeves as the (hopefully soon again) angel passes by him. “And...you'll set Sam right, too, yeah? Soon?”

“Greedy.” It chills Dean to the bone – he needs Sam fixed, and it's his fault in the first place, because he tried to make Cas see sense rather than nod and thank him. But you don't let the...whatever you love make a mess of that magnitude without trying to tell him off, do you?

He's somewhere else before he's even stopped worrying. Cas carried him along, huh? Why? There's a blood drawing on the wall, twin of the one which frustrated Crowley. He sighs. So he's here as a...what? Witness? Okay. Great.

“You better hold up your part of the bargain”, Cas says, staring at the symbols.

“I can't wait.” It's true, and apparently enough for the other, who nods decisively before walking up to the wall, chanting something in Latin.

What happens next is a secret Dean will bring to his grave. Oh, the blinding light bursting out of his angel and sucked back (...how do you make a place for every imaginable monster, anyway?) _there_ , is not even the weirdest thing he's seen, nor especially ineffable.

But then all the clothes Cas is wearing suddenly disappear. No, not disintegrated – they're actually...teleported? to the side, but Dean's visual field is suddenly laser-focused on the back and – yes, okay, the luscious ass suddenly revealed to him. Anyone who didn't have their eyes angel-fried would be, too. There's no one else here, though.

No one to hear Cas keen, “Dean...need you.” And sure, this might be the soul equivalent of Chernobyl, but some people stepped in and made sure Chernobyl didn't get any worse than it actually had, didn't they? (This is the rational explanation he'll give himself later, because admitting he didn't use the head above his waist at all is embarrassing.) And crazy on borrowed power Castiel would order, state and downright threaten, but he'd never, ever beg. Of course he knows what is going on. He's figured out everything.

No, he hasn't, but no power on any realm could have stopped him from rushing to Cas, awkwardly trying to shuck his pants and briefs on the way, only to have them bunch up at his ankles. Really, he would have deserved it if the angel had decided he was going to take everything back in – Dean's soul included.

Dumb luck or their infamous bond, the way Cas arches against him, rubbing his ass against Dean's front, and groans a mangled version of his name leave no doubt. Maybe Dean is dead, after all, and this is heaven. It would make sense.

“In in in in,” Cas pleads, and while he would never do this normally – no prep, no precautions, no nothing – well, it's not as if angels carry STDs, do they? And if Cas thinks he can deal with him right now, who's Dean to reason him out of it?

He takes the plunge, and it's like coming home. A hand is skimming Cas' flank, still keeping safely well out of the path of light coming from his chest, and the other clutches at a broad shoulder. “I got you,” he murmurs against naked skin. “Got you, baby. Hold on.” The words are interspersed with kisses and kitty-licks, wherever his wandering mouth happens to be.

He plans to take it slow, but his partner won't hear of it. With Cas bucking, moaning, clenching around him – well, Dean's still human. He picks up the pace, relentless now, even deeper, and – oh, there it is, from the shout that echoes; one that has nothing to do with the dangers of putting nukes back. “I have you, love,” he mumbles.

The hunter prides himself in always taking care of his partners first, but this time he couldn't stop himself if his life depended on it. Oh well. He's more than resolved to see Cas to his ending, anyway.

That's a concern for later, though. Something's changed. The blinding light turns into an ink-black, almost viscid-looking...whatever. Any hint of afterglow disappears. Oh fuck. He's ruined everything, hasn't he? He should have known. He should have exerted some fucking self-control. What the fuck has he done now? At least, the black thing is absorbed back too, and afterwards, Purgatory closes.

If he wasn't against – in – Castiel, the angel would have dropped like a sack of potatoes.

“Cas?...Cas?” Dean's voice is hesitant, but no answer comes. Gently, he eases out and lays his lover down. Need to look him over for...whatever, Dean isn't even sure he would recognize what's wrong, not really an expert in angelic health, but what else can he do? Cas doesn't look ill, at least. No bleeding, no weird tint to his skin, no fever. Can angel vessels even get fevers? And then he hears a soft snore, and almost breaks into giggles. Tired. Sure, Cas doesn't normally sleep (and hasn't that lead to a few talks about boundaries and stalkerish behaviour, no, you can't watch me sleep, it's creepy). But normally, Cas hasn't been fucked raw while dealing with soul-nukes either.

The folded trenchcoat makes for a nice pillow, and the rest of Cas' clothes – and Dean's jacket – can stand in place of covers. He hopes. It might not be the most comfortable, but this will teach Cas to try his spells in a proper motel room next time he wants to sign a deal with Crowley. (Hopefully never.)

Dean takes a few steps away, keeping his new boyfriend in sight, and calls his brother. Of course, his whispering tone sets Sam immediately on edge. “No, I'm not in danger... Yeah, it's done. I saw it. I promise. Look, you and Bobby take my baby and go home, okay?”

Of course Sam doesn't just listen. If he did, Dean bets Bobby would reach for holy water. “Everything's okay on my end, Sammy, for God's sake. But Cas is extra worn out, so I'll let him have a nap before waking him up and heading over for the other thing. If you can hold on for a bit, at least. How are you?” Sam woke up, in the first place. Let the leftover symptoms be nothing worse than a fry up and drink can fix, please.  
“You _what_? Whatever the fucker gets up to – it's not real, okay? Remember that. He can't get you anymore. As if we'd let him, really.” It's almost a growl, but still- hopefully soft enough not to disturb his angel. Cas needs to recuperate soon and fix his mess, because fuck it. Sammy dealt with Lucifer long enough. Dean's almost sorry it's all in his brother's brain. He might technically not be up to it, but he's itching to kick the bastard's ass for what he's done in the first place.

His sleeping beauty rolls around, whimpering a bit, and Dean's concern immediately switches. Sam's got Bobby for now. The old man's no-nonsense attitude will help keep him rooted, or at least that's what Dean has to hope. Cas – Cas, right now, is his responsibility. The idiot pissed off enough people up and down that standing guard is the least the hunter can do. And that's hoping he hasn't fucked the angel up by thinking with his dick. Dean crouches over him, frowning. A soft touch to his shoulder, and the angel settles. Dean exhales slowly. Things aren't getting even worse. That's something.

He loses any notion of time after that. Oh, it's a few hours, at least. But two? Four? Eight? He could check on his phone, of course. But why bother? He doesn't need a distraction. Not when he's appointed sentinel. The odd look Cas' way – to check everything is still alright, not because...okay, yes, because – is distraction enough. His angel might have been a bit creepy, but if this is how he felt watching Dean sleep, the hunter will have to apologize for making a fuss about it.

Finally, curaçao-hued eyes blink open.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks.

“Myself.”

Good, that's...good. Before he can say as much, though, Cas continues, “Ashamed.”

Of course, how could he not be. This was...a weird fluke of some sort. Oh God, if Cas wasn't himself before, does...does this make Dean a rapist? He's done a lot of things he's not proud of, but this – this is new, and almost makes him sick. Instead, he rushes out of the room, giving Cas the privacy to dress up. If the angel will come smite him afterwards, he's not going to fight. But he _is_ going to remind him about Sam. His brother shouldn't be caught in the crosshairs of whatever mess Cas and he have themselves tied up in.

The rustle of the trenchcoat tells him Cas is after him. Well. Useless to run then. Before he can say anything, the angel asks, “Where's Sam?”

Dean exhales deeply. He's not going to have to beg. Cas might be many things, but unfair is not one of them – not when he's himself. “At Bobby's, if they listened to me – which I seriously hope.”

His angel walks to face him, and when an arm stretches out, Dean closes his eyes. With the reassurance that Sammy is going to be okay, well, he deserves it. If he'd looked, he wouldn't have been surprised by the soft touch of two fingers, rather than a cruel palm. He'll never get used to angel travel.

His eyes snap open to his brother's voice calling his name. That's...unexpected, but nice. Cas is by his side, and a wary glance shows Dean a kicked puppy look in blue eyes that rivals the best ones Sammy could ever weaponize.

“May I?” the angel asks, taking a step towards Sammy.

“If you mean fix it, yeah,” his brother replies, a mix of doubt and fear still in his eyes. Not that Dean blames him. He stares at them, too, just to make sure. He trusts Cas – this Cas, at least – but after Death's stern warnings...well. In Sam's place, he would be suspicious of further fucking with his head too.

It takes Cas a bit, but finally, he lets go. Sammy blinks, looks around, as if to make sure, then he sighs and – it's a weird word, but...unravels. Whatever was weighing on him is gone.

“I'm sorry,” the angel mumbles.

“I'm not going to say it's nothing, but you helped, so....as long as you don't do it again, we're fine,” Sam replies.

Dean's pretty sure that if Cas' wings were out, they'll be all aflutter. “I'd never! In fact, I added an extra layer to the wall, just for protection.”

“And Sam knows, Cas. He's just messing with you.”

“Do I?” Sammy counters, but then he gives up and cracks the smile Dean knew he'd been hiding all along.

“Oh. Great. Then, if you don't mind...I need to talk with Dean. In private.”

“You've just had private time!” Sam says, but shrugs when the angel starts literally dragging his brother upstairs.

Dean goes along willingly, of course. Sam doesn't need to see whatever he deserved. He so doesn't expect Cas to be smiling at him, when he gently magics the door closed behind them.

“Thanks for taking care of me when I was unconscious,” the angel says.

Dean is not really sure how to answer that, so he just shrugs, with a grunt. What else could he do?... Does Cas think so badly of him? That Dean would run away and if whoever he pissed off caught up with him, well, too bad? If not previously agreed on (or work emergency) he wouldn't do that to one of his passing flings...and they don't have a civil war possibly ongoing. Sure, Raphael is dead, but this will only anger someone, won't it?

“I do have the worst timing, though. Passed out before I could properly enjoy it. And – I remember some promise about worshipping. If you're still in the mood, of course. But we do have years to make up for.”

“You still want to?”

“Of course I do. Don't you?” Castiel is frowning now. “Didn't you? Was it...a ploy?”

“No! No no no! But you said you were ashamed, so.” Bobby's old, scratched floor is suddenly riveting.

“I am. Of too many things to name, most of which I won't ever be able to start putting right, like I could for your brother. Of our love, and whatever way we choose to manifest it? Never. Are you?”

“Ashamed? No.” He looks back up – how could Cas believe him otherwise? God knows he has a laundry list of things to be ashamed, too. No matter how hard he tries, he always seems to fall short of what he should. But Cas? Eh. He's had way worse crushes. He doesn't even think he deserves teasing over this relationship...since apparently they have one. (Sammy will, anyway. That's what annoying little brothers are for.) “Concerned? Yes.”

“Why?”

“That black...whatever. And then you passed out. I didn't hurt you, did I?” Cas shouldn't be so eager if he did, but then again...Cas has never made much sense by his standards.

The angel's smile is the softest...proudest? – no, he must be misreading it – one Dean has received in his whole life. “You didn't hurt me. You saved the world. As usual.” Dean must look as baffled as he feels, because Cas decides to elaborate on that. “I hadn't just taken souls. There were...older, darker, _hungrier_ creatures...and they didn't want to go back. At all. I had to prove them that this world was too pure for their tastes. And where my hubris failed, you didn't. Just as I knew you wouldn't.”

Dean can't help it. He chuckles. “You sure it worked? Because, you know. If it did, they have a weird definition of purity.”

“Believe me, you would have noticed if any of them stuck around.” And then something changes, and it's not Cas anymore, who might have caused people to invent the word adorkable for all he knows. Thank God it's not the power-mad dude from before either. But oh, hello Castiel, angel of the Lord, stern and self-righteous and terribly sexy even when he doesn't mean to be. “I don't tell you how to hunt. It'd be for the best if you left to me the judgment about sin, or lack of it.”

He nods. Of course he does. Not going to argue with that. But well, if he's not going to...if this isn't going to damage Cas, and he's on board and himself and...he could maybe come up with more objections, but why on earth would he want to? “I did promise,” he says instead, “and this time around, I won't be as lousy a lover as last time.”

“You weren't,” _his_ angel – and doesn't it get Dean going that he can think it, now, without the automatic urge to correct himself – argues. Before they can devolve into a debate (Dean has his pride, damn, and leaving a partner unsatisfied? That's lousy, even if it saves the universe in the process), once again, he kneels at Castiel's feet.

For a moment, his eyes search his beloved's, green on blue, and if Castiel ever wanted adoration? There it is. No need to trouble himself. But then the soft gaze turns daring, Dean licks his lips, and the show starts.

Before Cas can think to magic one or both of them naked, Dean's teeth are at his pants' zip, opening it with ease. The angelic groan coming from over him makes him smile against white boxers. Oh, he's going to get his prize, but for the moment – Dean enjoys mouthing against the fabric, licking, tracing the contour of a very interested cock.

Before his lover can protest the dillydallying, he pulls down boxers and pants in a smooth move. He's tempted to stare – who wouldn't, faced with perfection? - but he has an apology to make. One he's going to need lips and tongue, if not words, for. Despite being eager, he goes slowly, taking just the tip at first. More lovely sounds float above him, and Dean can't help a shiver of pride. He's earned that.

He starts slow, trying not to accidentally overwhelm his capabilities. He builds a rhythm, letting himself be guided by the intensity of his lover's moans, hands going up to hips about to push any second. He's still trying to control the situation, because – he's the one who knows what he's doing, after all. Until Cas' hands take hold of short hair, and Dean gives up. His angel would never hurt him – not in his right mind. So he lets his eye slide closed, relaxes his throat as much as he can, and lets Cas take what he will. However deep he will. Not that Dean stops actively trying to drive his partner out of his mind, but – not thinking anymore? That's lovely.

He's acting on instinct now. His hands move south, too, playing with balls he can't possibly reach or fit right now (they'll have to, some other time)...and that's when Cas comes with a last, drawn-out keen that might or might not be a mangled version of Dean's own name. He swallows, and swallows, refusing to let even a drop go to waste, cleaning the cock before letting it out of his mouth...and then licking his lips, for good measure.

“Thank you.” Castiel's voice is hoarse. “My turn.”

The universe hates Dean, though (which is no news, really). Because, obviously, that's when Bobby knocks. “Sorry but we got company you might want to check.” Oh well. Once this is solved, they need to upgrade their wardings.

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. I know, I know... My brain went that since Godstiel didn't exactly wipe out all Raphael's followers, season 7, instead of Dick and its ungodly amount of cannibalism, could be a 'getting rid of them/possibly make sure some angels at least develop common sense'. What can I say. Not new, I know. Metatron is a little shit, but he's my favorite..and I wouldn't mind more angel wars. You decide if the interlopers are pro or against the boys, though.


End file.
